Free A Dangerous Dress by Julia Holden Page B

been scrupulously honest about when something is only essentially true versus one hundred percent true. Gerard Duclos introduced her as Nathalie Gauloise. So that is true. But I am absolutely certain it is not her real name. First, because so many actors and actresses change their names. Like Winona Ryder is really Winona Horowitz, which is apparently not a movie-star name. And second, because of what Celestine later told me Gauloise means. In Roman times, France was called Gaul, so Gauloise kind of means “French.” It would be like an American actress whose last name was “American.” You wouldn’t think that was her real name, right?
    Gauloise is also the name of a French brand of cigarettes—nasty-smelling unfiltered cigarettes. So personally, even though I suspect Nathalie changed her name to Gauloise so people will think Ooh, she is so French, I hope that people will see her name and think of the horrible cigarettes. Actually, I hope nobody will ever see her name, period.
    Gerard gave Nathalie a big hug, which again I thought he held too long for a man his age. Because if anything, Nathalie was even younger than me. Maybe twenty-two. She was playing Catherine, the girl young Harold Klein falls madly in love with. The character is only eighteen. But I guess in the French movie business, just like in America, older actors and actresses play younger parts all the time. Whatever. Gerard was definitely past fifty, and the way he hugged her made me squirm.
    She didn’t seem to mind, though. In fact, when Gerard was finally through hugging her, Nathalie draped herself over him and rubbed, like a cat rubbing up against a scratching post.
    I do not care much for cats. I also do not care much for Nathalie Gauloise.
    The truth is that when I first met Nathalie, I did not have any opinion of her one way or another. Of course, I am human just like anybody else, and I started forming impressions.
    The very first one she made was that she is the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Really. And she still is—even though I am talking about someone you know I do not like.
    You may remember I told you that Celestine was not the prettiest girl I ever saw because I have seen a girl who is drop-dead movie-star perfect gorgeous. Well, that girl was Nathalie. What’s more, all of her is real, although it grieves me to say it. I wish I could tell you all that perfect gorgeousness is manufactured. But I can’t. I have seen Nathalie up close—much closer than I would have liked, in fact. And I do mean all of her. Including parts that tend not to be real when they look so perfect. But everything about her is real. And perfect. She has perfect black hair. Perfect pale skin. Perfect eyes, nose, cheekbones, teeth. Perfect tits. Waist. Butt. Legs. Even ankles and feet. So that was my very first impression.
    Then Nathalie immediately started rubbing up against Gerard Duclos like a cat in heat. Which contributed significantly to my second impression.
    Slut.
    That was the first word that popped into my head. Followed by
    Cheap whore slut bitch.
    Okay, maybe some of those words I thought of later, after everything happened. But that very first time, I distinctly remember. Slut.
    Nathalie and Gerard Duclos were murmuring to each other in French. Then they stopped murmuring. Nathalie looked at me. She blinked those big black eyes. Needless to say, she has very long eyelashes.
    “You are pretty,” she said.
    That was a surprise, coming from her. I said, “Thank you.”
    “But not so pretty as me.”
    “No,” I said. Which was quite true. But having her say it like that turned her compliment into an insult.
    “She did not bring the dress,” Gerard apologized to Nathalie.
    “She did not bring the dress?” Nathalie’s eyes narrowed, and for an instant I thought she resembled a very pretty poisonous snake.
    “She is an expert,” Gerard assured her. “She will find the dress.”
    Nathalie’s eyes unnarrowed, and the snake went away. “Find